My Favorite Thief (10 page)

“Of course I accept your apology, Lord Bryden,” she said. “I understand that the subject of the Dark Shadow is of enormous interest to nearly everyone in London, and consequently I must learn to expect that people are going to want to question me on him.”

“I assured Miss Kent that you would be pleased to make a donation to her asylum—as a way of making amends,” Tony added helpfully.

“Of course,” Harrison agreed. “I would be pleased to contribute to your very fine charity, Miss Kent. Tomorrow I shall send over a bank note for one hundred pounds.”

It was a very generous donation. A day earlier, Charlotte would have been elated by such a contribution, especially by someone whose acquaintance she had only just made. But she needed five thousand pounds within three days' time. One hundred pounds was nothing to her anymore. “Thank you.”

Harrison was surprised by her obvious lack of enthusiasm. He was not well versed in the costs of feeding and clothing a half dozen or so whores and urchins, but he imagined a hundred pounds, managed carefully, could be made to last a reasonable amount of time. Why was she not more pleased?

“Why don't we say two hundred pounds?” he amended. Perhaps she had incurred some expenses that needed to be paid off. “I imagine running an asylum in the middle of London can be rather expensive.”

“Thank you, Lord Bryden.” Two hundred pounds still wouldn't begin to address the amount her father had demanded of her, but it was a start. “You are most kind.”

“Oh, I absolutely adore this music,” exclaimed Lady Elizabeth suddenly, deciding she had tolerated Charlotte and Tony's intrusion long enough. “Lord Bryden, I insist that you dance this waltz with me—I won't take no for an answer!” Emboldened by the champagne she had consumed and the certainty that Harrison was not unaffected by her considerable charms, she reached out and took his hand. “You will forgive us, Miss Kent, if we take our leave of you?”

“Of course,” murmured Charlotte, wondering what it was about Lord Bryden that was bothering her. “Please enjoy yourselves.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kent.” Although he didn't feel like dancing, Harrison was relieved to have a reason to excuse himself from Miss Kent's presence. He was satisfied that she did not recognize him, but to stay in her company any longer was risky. “I wish you and the members of your household the very best.”

“Thank you.”

Charlotte watched as Lord Bryden dutifully led Lady Elizabeth onto the crowded dance floor. He walked with the grace of a panther, his stride fluid and sure. She was quite certain he would be an accomplished dancer.

“If you like, I shall escort you back to where I found you, Miss Kent,” Tony offered. “Your family is probably wondering what has happened to you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Poole.” Charlotte's gaze remained fastened upon Lord Bryden. He gave a small, courtly bow to Lady Elizabeth, the movement easy and elegant. Then he raised his arms to take hold of his lovely young partner.

And winced.

The pained contortion of his face was abrupt. In the next instant he had completely mastered it, to the extent that had Charlotte blinked, she would have missed it altogether. He had now assumed an expression of polite enjoyment, which he maintained perfectly as he led Lady Elizabeth in expert circles around the floor.

It can't be,
thought Charlotte, shocked by the certainty that it was his shoulder that had caused him to wince. Lord Bryden was an esteemed member of London society. It was preposterous to think he could possibly be a common jewel thief. She stared at him as he swept Lady Elizabeth around, swiftly comparing his height and build with that of the Dark Shadow. Both were tall and solidly built. Both moved with fluid grace. That meant nothing, she told herself impatiently. The same could be said of nearly a third of the men in the ballroom. She swiftly began to contrast the details of Lord Bryden's face, hair, and voice to what she could recall of the Dark Shadow. The jewel thief's mask had kept her from seeing any of his features, and the cap he had worn had effectively covered his hair. As for his voice—

“Miss Kent?” Tony was looking at her in confusion. “Is everything all right?”

She snapped her attention back to her escort. “Yes, I'm fine.”

She laid her hand upon his offered arm and began to limp back to the area where Simon and Jamie were waiting for her, her mind fervently evaluating Lord Bryden. The Dark Shadow's voice had been low and rich, but the same could be said of many men. At that moment she could not recall it well enough to draw an accurate comparison. What was it, then, that was causing alarm to race up her spine?

His eyes.

“There you are!” exclaimed Jamie, moving forward to greet her. “We wondered what had become of you.” He regarded Tony with friendly interest. “I don't believe we have met.”

“Mr. Poole, permit me to introduce my brothers, Mr. James Kent and Mr. Simon Kent,” said Charlotte. “Jamie and Simon, this is Mr. Poole.”

“A pleasure to meet both of you,” said Tony, bowing slightly. “I do hope you don't mind that I stole your sister away for a short time. I wanted to introduce her to a friend of mine—which I hope you found worthwhile, Miss Kent.” He gave Charlotte a teasing smile. “I knew if we put Bryden on the spot he would have no choice but to pay you.”

Simon frowned. “Pay her?”

“I encouraged Lord Bryden to make a substantial donation to your sister's asylum, as a way of making amends for his rather thoughtless joke that the Dark Shadow might actually be here amongst us this evening,” Tony explained. “Miss Kent quite wisely showed no emotion when he made his initial pledge, which caused poor Bryden to double his original offer!” He laughed. “No matter, he can afford it. Had she continued to play it cool with him, I think we could have got him to go even higher.”

“That's wonderful, Charlotte,” said Jamie.

Charlotte nodded, barely listening. Lord Bryden was the Dark Shadow? But that made no sense. He was an earl, after all. His background would have been filled with the trappings of wealth and privilege. What on earth would make him take such enormous risks to steal from the very people with whom he socialized?

“What can you tell me of Lord Bryden?” She tried to sound only casually interested as she smiled at Tony. “Have you known him very long?”

“We've been friends a good while,” Tony answered. “He may make the odd joke here and there, but basically Bryden's a serious sort. He became earl when he was just twenty-four—his father died rather suddenly, and Bryden had to step in and take over the estate and holdings, which were in something of a mess, I'm afraid. He's done an astonishing job of building it all up again, though. Everyone was amazed by what he managed to accomplish in a short period of time. He has a natural talent for business, it seems. I keep hoping if I stay around him long enough, some of that talent will rub off on me!” He laughed. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kent,” he finished, bowing. “And both of you, also,” he added, nodding at Simon and Jamie. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“How much did Lord Bryden agree to donate?” asked Simon after he was gone.

“Two hundred pounds.”

Jamie grinned. “Two hundred pounds will keep you going for months, and once word gets out that Lord Bryden has contributed to your asylum, surely there will be others willing to follow his lead.”

“You look pale, Charlotte.” Simon regarded her worriedly. “Would you like to leave?”

She shook her head. “I don't believe I thanked Lord Bryden properly for his generous bequest. If you don't mind staying a little longer, I'll just go and have a quick word with him.”

“I'll come with you,” Jamie offered.

“No, thank you. I think it would be better if I spoke with him alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

 

H
ARRISON LIFTED A GLASS OF BRANDY FROM THE SILVER
tray a footman was offering him and took a hefty swallow. Given the close call he had just experienced with Miss Kent, his resolve to refrain from drinking for the evening had been abandoned. As far as he was concerned, the evening was over. One drink, and then he was going to summon his carriage and go home. He was invited to several other balls over the next few days. Perhaps one of them would prove more profitable.

He turned to see Miss Kent limping toward him, alone.

Jesus bloody Christ.

Gone was the reticent, faintly perplexed air she had when Tony had dragged her over to meet him earlier. Harrison had sensed then that something about him bothered her. He had tried to be careful not to say or do anything that might remind her of the Dark Shadow. Clearly, he had failed. Maybe he had some telltale mannerism of which he was unaware. Or perhaps the timbre of his voice was more distinctive than he realized. Whatever it was, Charlotte Kent had made the connection between him and the jewel thief she had stumbled upon two nights earlier.

Now that he was not in imminent danger of either bleeding to death or being arrested, she no doubt wanted to reform his blackened soul and set him firmly on the path to righteousness.

“Forgive me, Lord Bryden, but I would like to speak with you further about your donation,” she began, her voice loud enough to be heard by those immediately around them. “Perhaps we could find a quiet place to talk.”

Harrison regarded her calmly. “Of course, Miss Kent. Why don't we step out onto the terrace? I hear that Lady Marston's roses are not to be missed.” He set his brandy glass on a table and politely offered her his arm.

A flush of heat pulsed through Charlotte as she laid her gloved fingers against the hard warmth of his sleeve. She knew that arm. She had seen it stripped bare, had known the supple contours of its muscles, lean and firm and filled with power. She had felt it wrapped tight around her, holding her a prisoner against the Dark Shadow's body, and later, clinging to her for support as she and Flynn struggled to help him into her house.

It seemed strange to lay her hand upon it with such polite restraint.

“Shall we?” enquired Lord Bryden.

She began to limp toward the doors leading to the terrace, uncomfortably aware that everyone was staring at her.

“Would you like to go down into the gardens, or do you prefer the terrace?” Lord Bryden asked politely.

Charlotte looked at the multitude of steps cascading down into the gardens and bit her lip. “I think I would prefer to stay up on the terrace, if that is all right with you.”

“Of course.” Harrison felt like an idiot for having suggested the gardens. Of course she didn't want to go tramping up and down all those steps with her injured leg. He scanned the grounds below one corner of the terrace, making sure no one was there to overhear their conversation. Then he glanced at the balconies above. Empty. “Would this area over here suit you? There is a bench where you can sit down, if you like.”

“Thank you.”

He led her over to the stone bench and seated her. “A very pleasant evening, don't you think, Miss Kent?”

“I know who you are,” Charlotte said in a strained whisper.

He leaned against the balustrade and folded his arms across his chest, feigning bemusement. “Really?”

“I'm not going to try to change you, if that's what you're thinking,” she added quickly. She didn't have much time before one of her brothers or sisters came looking for her.

“That's a relief,” he observed wryly. “And, may I add, somewhat refreshing. In my experience, most women usually can't wait to change me.”

“I know about your background, Lord Bryden,” Charlotte continued, flustered by his calm. The fact that he did not find her to be a threat only made her feel more guilty about what she was going to do. “How your father died and left your estate in such a terrible state. I suppose you started stealing then, perhaps thinking you would take only enough to give you the money you needed to make some investments and get things going again. But stealing is not always a matter of need. I understand that. After a while, if you haven't been caught, it means you're either very lucky, or very good. Either way, it gets into your blood. You find you can't help yourself. And there is always something more that you want.”

“This really is fascinating, Miss Kent. Have you considered writing an article on this subject? I'm sure it would be well received—”

“I need more money from you.”

Harrison stared at her. This was not what he had expected. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” he asked, incredulous.

“It isn't for me,” she swiftly assured him.

“Then whom, may I ask, is it for?”

“It's for my refuge house,” she lied. “To help pay for expenses.”

“Two hundred pounds wasn't generous enough?”

“Two hundred pounds was very generous. But I'm afraid I need quite a bit more than that.”

“I see. Just how much more are we talking about?”

“I need five thousand pounds.”

Harrison had the grace not to laugh, but that was the limit of his restraint. “Forgive me, Miss Kent, but have you gone completely mad?”

“I realize it's a lot of money.”

“It is more money than your entire house and all its furnishings are worth,” Harrison pointed out. “Were you thinking of setting up a refuge house in the middle of Mayfair? Or perhaps leasing an estate in the country for all your charming friends?”

“No.”

“Then what, may I ask, is it that compels you to ask me for such an exorbitant sum?”

“That is not your concern, Lord Bryden. I need five thousand pounds, and I need it quickly.”

“Then I suggest you ask your father for it. I'm sure Lord Redmond has never let you want for anything. It's a enormous amount of money, but if he doesn't have the funds, I'm certain the bank will grant him a loan.”